Dorothy's Triumph

“Oh, no ‘buts.’ I know vhat you vould say. But it is not necessary. I have made up my mind, und once I do dat, I never change.”

“I know, Herr, but – ”

“Didn’t I say no ‘buts’? You shall show de people of Baltimore vhat a really fine violinist dey have in their midst.”

“Well, if you insist, of course I shall play. And are you to play my accompaniments?”

“I, my dear young lady? No, no; I shall have my hands full vidout attempting dat. But you shall have a full orchestra at your beck und call to t’under at you vun minute und to help you lull de audience to sleep de next.”

“Herr, you overwhelm me!”

“Such vass not my intention. I am merely telling you vhat I know to be de truth. You are a remarkable girl und nothing I can say vill turn your head. I have tried it und I know. Dat iss vhy I do not hesitate to say it.”

When Dorothy Calvert left Herr Deichenberg’s studio that morning she was the happiest girl in Baltimore.

CHAPTER X

HERR DEICHENBERG’S CONCERT

Herr Deichenberg’s concert was but a month away, and Dorothy, despite the hotness of the weather, practiced as she never had before.

After her visit to the studio Herr Deichenberg resumed his comings to Bellvieu. He seemed never to tire descanting on the beauties of the old estate, and in this way won a warm place in the hearts of both Dorothy and Aunt Betty – aside from his many other fine qualities.

Aunt Betty had been delighted at the thought of Dorothy’s appearing at the Herr’s concert.

“His affairs are the finest of their kind given in the city,” she told the girl, “and it is an honor you must not fail to appreciate. The Herr would not have invited you to appear had he not been sure of your ability to uphold his standards.”

The week before the concert Herr Deichenberg came out one morning in a particularly good humor – though, to tell the truth, he seemed always bubbling over with agreeable qualities.

“It iss all arranged,” he told Dorothy – “for de concert, I mean. De theater has been put in readiness, und you should see de decorations. Ah! Vines trailing t’rough de boxes, und de stage just loaded down with palms. Und yet I am not t’rough, I have been offered de loan of some of de finest plants in de city. I tell you, Miss Dorothy, it iss very nice to have friends.”

“It is indeed,” the girl responded. “A little inspiration from them can go a long way toward helping us accomplish our tasks.”

The lesson went unusually well that morning.

Dorothy was practicing certain pieces now, which she was to render at the concert, the selections having been made from among the classics by the Herr professor. There were two pieces, and a third – a medley of old Southern airs – was to be held in readiness, though the music master warned his pupil not to be discouraged if she did not receive a second encore.

The Herr was even more particular than was his wont – if such a thing were possible. The missing of the fraction of a beat – the slightest error in execution or technique – he would correct at once, making her play over a certain bar time and again, until her playing was to his entire satisfaction. Then he would encourage her with a nod of approval, and go on to the next.

But Dorothy did not mind this; rather, she revelled in it. Her heart was in her prospective career as a violinist, and she was willing to undergo any discomfort if she could but attain her ambition.

On the morning before the concert Herr Deichenberg made his last call at Bellvieu – before the event. By this time Dorothy had learned well her lessons, and the Herr required that she run over each piece but once. Her execution was perfect – not a note marred or slurred – and he expressed his satisfaction in glowing terms.

“You vill now take a vell-deserved rest,” he said. “Please do not touch a violin until you arrive at the theater to-morrow evening.”

“I can hardly wait for to-morrow evening to come, Herr,” she replied. The eagerness in her voice caused the music master to smile.

“Ah, but you must not be too anxious, young lady. Better it iss to get de concert off your mind for a vhile. Vhat iss de use of playing de whole affair over in your mind, until you are sick und tired of it? No, no; don’t do it. Vait till you get de reality.”

“As well try to banish my dear Aunt Betty from my thoughts,” was the answer of the smiling girl.

“Ah, vell, vhen you are as old as I, those t’ings vill not vorry you.”

“Ah, but Herr, you are worried yourself – I can see it.”

“Vhat! Me vorried? Oh, my dear young lady, no; my composure is perfect – perfect.”

“You are worrying right now.”

“Over vhat, please?”

“Well, first you are wondering whether the confidence reposed by you in one Miss Dorothy Calvert will be justified when she faces a great audience for the first time in her life. Now, ’fess up, aren’t you, Herr Deichenberg?”

“No, no; I have not de slightest doubt of dat.”

“Then you are worrying because you fear some of the other numbers on the programme will not come up to your expectations. Now, aren’t you?”

“No, no, Miss Dorothy. No; I do not vorry – of course, there iss dat young lady who is to render de piano selections from ‘Faust’ – er – yet, I have no cause to vorry. No, no, I – ”

Dorothy interrupted with a laugh.

“Your troubled expression as you said that gave you away, Herr. But I suppose it is very bold and impudent of me to tease you about these matters.”

The Herr smiled.

“Oh, you just tease me all you vant – I like it. But really, if I vass vorried, I vould tell you – surely I vould. Er – if dat young lady vill just remember vhat I haf told her, she – ”

Again the troubled expression flitted over Herr Deichenberg’s countenance, and Dorothy, seeing that he was really worried though he would not admit it, decided not to tease him further.

He soon took his departure, and the girl rushed away to tell Aunt Betty that the Herr was well satisfied with her work, then to talk incessantly for half an hour about the coming event. The concert was by far the largest affair that had ever loomed up on Miss Dorothy’s horizon, and she naturally could not get it off her mind.

The great opera house in which the concert was to be held was packed with people the next evening.

Dorothy, on the stage, peeping through a little hole in the curtain, saw one of the most fashionable audiences old Baltimore had ever turned out – the largest, in fact, Herr Deichenberg had ever drawn to one of his affairs, though the drawing power of the old professor had always been something to talk about.

Entering the stage entrance early in the evening, dressed in an elaborate white evening gown, made expressly for this occasion at one of the great dressmaking establishments, Dorothy had deposited her violin in her dressing-room and sallied forth to view the wonders of Fairyland – for such the stage, with its many illusions and mysteries, seemed to her.

She took great care to keep out of the way of the stage hands, who rushed back and forth, dragging great pieces of scenery over the stage as if they were but bits of pasteboard. Drops were let down, set pieces put in place, until, right before the eyes of the girl, a picture, beautiful indeed, had appeared. Where there had been but an empty stage now stood a scene representing a magnificent garden, with statuary, fountains and beautiful shrubbery all in their proper places. True, a great portion of this was represented by the back drop, but Dorothy knew that from the front the scene would look very real. Great jagged edges of wood wings protruded on to the stage – three on either side – while benches and palms were scattered here and there to properly balance the picture. Then, as if to force into the scene an incongruity of some sort, a grand piano was pushed out of the darkness in the rear of the stage, to a place in the garden, where it stood, seemingly the one blot on the landscape.

“A piano in a garden!” exclaimed Dorothy, and laughed softly to herself. “Who ever heard of such a thing? Yet, of course, the concert could not proceed without it.”

“Ah, my dear, here you are! You are fascinated with it all, yes?” questioned Herr Deichenberg, as he passed in a hurry. She nodded, smiling, and saw him rush hurriedly to the dressing-rooms below the stage to make sure all his pupils were present.

As he went the house electrician, with each hand on portions of the big switchboard, threw on the border and bunch lights, making the great stage almost as light as day. Then, out in front, Dorothy heard the orchestra as it struck into the overture, and hastening away, she seated herself in her dressing-room to await her turn on the programme.

Aunt Betty, she knew, sitting with Len and Jim in one of the front rows of the orchestra, would be eagerly awaiting her appearance. She resolved that not only her relative, but Herr Deichenberg, as well, should be proud of her achievements.

She heard the first number – a piano solo – then the great roar of applause that swept over the assemblage. This was followed by an encore. Then another round of applause.